


Saved My Love for You

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NHL Alexei, Post-Surgery, hockey injury, post-surgery care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A year and a half later and here they were.  Not really open, but not really a secret.And here in this bedroom, as Justin curled back up round Alexei who was relaxing as the ice and the meds took the edge off the pain, Justin was as open as he could ever be.





	Saved My Love for You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mxlfoydraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxlfoydraco/gifts).



> For my darling Serra who has to recover from her own post-surgery. I hope recovery goes smoothly, and until it's passed, here's some of our favourite boys being sweet to each other. I hope this helps, I love you! <3
> 
> Warnings for: hockey injury (mild descriptions) and mentions of pain, and non graphic mentions of a surgery site.

And now you're here  
My lonely days are through  
Oh I'm so glad  
That I saved my love for you  
I'm the last one to be loved  
-Dionne Warwick

***

His brown eyes were bleary, and half crossed as he groaned and twisted his head to the side. The nurses said this would happen. People wake from anaesthesia differently, but usually it takes three or four times before they’re cognizant enough to remember things. Especially when the surgery was as long as Alexei’s.

Initially, Justin wasn’t allowed back, but Alexei had signed a form—which had been misplaced for most of the surgery’s duration, and it was thirty minutes after Alexei had been in recovery that it was tracked down. “Half an hour more,” the nurse said after verifying Justin’s ID. “Then you can come back. Someone will be by to grab you.”

Thirty minutes of stale, weak waiting room coffee and terrible daytime chat shows on the tv hanging in the corner of the wall which looked like someone had plucked it straight from 1987—it had turn knobs and everything. The chairs were stained, and the magazines were years old. Each of the tables had an empty box of tissue, and there was a small toy, coloured wires twisting out of a wooden box with brightly painted pegs attached to them.

Justin wondered if kids really enjoyed those. Then he wondered if parents actually let their kids touch it because god knows how old it was, or how often it had been cleaned, and how many kids had put what and where.

“Mr Oluransi?”

Justin’s head snapped up, and a short woman in blue scrubs beckoned him along. He stared down at her nondescript white shoes, and the tired way she shuffled along the floor, and he wondered how long she’d been on shift. He wondered if this was what his life might be like if he hadn’t changed his mind at the last minute, because it all seemed so…miserable.

He supposed some of them had to love it. You didn’t dedicate yourself to a job like this unless you either loved it, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell your parents know, or you just enjoyed being exhausted and mistreated every day. He didn’t think he fit into any of those categories, and that was the last thought he had before stepping into recovery to see Alexei Mashkov.

He wasn’t awake, initially. He was stretched out on a bed in a large room full of other beds, and other patients behind mostly closed, yellowing curtains. The centre of the room had a massive nurse’s station with hustle and bustle, and coffee that smelt a little better, and white boards with patient names and nurse names and numbers and names of drugs Justin didn’t totally understand.

He found himself sat in an uncomfortable, mesh-lined chair near the bed where Alexei was prone, his foot propped up on several pillows and exposed to the world which Justin had not expected. He thought there would be hulking bandages or a cast or…something.

Alexei’s ankle looked terrible, swollen under the light bandaging where Justin could actually see purpling skin and the edge of sutures, and he liked to think he could see the outline of the pins, but he knew that wasn’t right.

_Fuck hockey_ , he thought to himself as the hit replayed itself in his head. The way his ankle had twisted as he went down. The pain on his face, the way his eyes rolled back in his head. The way the camera _kept filming_ , which what the fuck. And how it had all gone viral like Alexei was some zoo specimen or car accident people had to slow down to watch.

But he was here now. And Alexei’s head turned to the side just then, and his eyes opened bleary and red. His lips were a little cracked like always, but looked a bit more dry than usual as he opened and closed his mouth, then began to mutter in Russian.

The nurse had come in, just then. Alexei’s vitals had begun to jump—his heart racing, then slowing, then racing. Justin tensed, but the woman noticed and she shook her head with a grin. “Totally normal. We just need to keep monitoring for a little while. He’ll be good to go home today.”

Justin had already learnt that before arriving. He’d be driving Alexei back to his little cottage, and helping him inside, and fucking off his classes until Alexei could get round on his own.

He reached over and touched his boyfriend’s hand, carefully avoiding the IV which was poking out of the side of his wrist. Alexei had notoriously terrible veins, and in pre-op the nurse had poked him seven times before she was able to get a line. Alexei didn’t seem to mind, found it a little funny, and had everyone giggling because that’s just how he was, and damn, Justin loved him so much.

He traced slow patterns along Alexei’s skin, watching as his eyes closed…then opened…then closed again for several long minutes.

His breathing evened, and his vitals stabilised.

He opened his eyes again, but his heartrate didn’t jump this time. He turned his head and stared at Justin for a long moment. He muttered something in Russian which Justin wasn’t sure about—he thought it was something like sunset or maybe beautiful, but he was learning really fucking slowly—especially since their time together during season was so sporadic.

“Sorry babe, I didn’t catch that,” he said quietly.

“Too pretty,” Alexei said, after gathering himself. “You.”

Justin raised a brow. “Uh. Thanks?”

“Pretty man, not holding…hands. Not. I’m…having boyfriend. Can’t…”

“Uh babe,” Justin said, letting Alexei go as he squirmed away. “You know I’m your boyfriend, right?”

“Too pretty,” Alexei murmured again. “For me.”

Justin snorted and leant his head forward until his forehead pressed against Alexei’s upper arm. “Whatever you say, babe. But I’m gonna stay here anyway, alright?”

“Mm,” Alexei mumbled.

Then he was out again.

The next time Alexei woke, he was more coherent. His mouth was dry, so the nurse gave him ice chips with just a sip of water at the bottom of the cup. “His chart says he does well after anaesthesia. Shouldn’t be a lot of nausea, but just let him have these for now and if he’s alright, you can grab him a clear fizzy drink before he’s discharged. If he wants it.”

Justin took a lot of pleasure spooning tiny little squares of ice into Alexei’s mouth. He was in no hurry to let his boyfriend gain the independence of drinking his own liquids.

Alexei didn’t seem to mind.

His pain spiked twenty minutes into his recovery, so the doctor gave an order for more pain meds before they put his ankle into a boot, then removed his IV.

“This is a walking cast, but absolutely no walking on it yet,” the tired looking man warned. He eyed Justin, since Alexei was drifting in and out from the meds. “He can take it off to bathe, but he can’t submerge it with the sutures in. So sponges only for that part of his leg.”

“Got it,” Justin said, stroking his fingers along the back of Alexei’s hand.

“Pharmacist will have the directions for his meds. Recovery isn’t complicated. Watch for signs of infection at the site—any fever and bring him in straight away. Other than that, he should follow up with his specialist, and they’ll start him on his PT when he’s ready.”

It seemed a bit hasty, suddenly, to be loading Alexei into his car with a clear plastic bag full of his stuff, and a white paper bag full of medication for the pain, and a suppository for potential nausea, and six pairs of those hospital socks with the rubber soles because, “Are so comfy, maybe they sharing a few?” which helplessly charmed the nurses into slipping him a few extra.

Navigating the crutches was the tricky part, mostly because Alexei was still loopy and off-kilter from the meds. But he’d been on them enough during his career, and they managed to get him up the walkway, through the door, and onto the sofa without major incident.

Alexei spent most of his time as Justin fussed with the pillows to elevate the ankle, with a wrinkled nose at the walking boot which he already hated. “Maybe I’m take bath,” he said.

Justin rolled his eyes. “Babe, you can’t live in the bath just to take it off. It sucks but like…you’ll be better soon enough, okay?”

“Not before season over,” Alexei said with another pout. He crossed his arms, and refused to un-cross them, even when Justin perched at the edge of the cushion and traced lines up and down Alexei’s forearm. “Team winning without me, maybe losing without me. I’m being here, on sofa. Not winning. Not losing.”

“Getting better so next season you don’t have to do this again,” Justin said, with just a flash of hope that Alexei did heal quickly, that it didn’t happen again because yeah, _fuck_ hockey.

Alexei softened a little though, and let his head loll back against the cushions. “B is sending pies?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

Justin couldn’t help a laugh. “Freezer’s stocked, babe. But maybe wait a few hours so you don’t hoark it all back up from the meds.”

“Am Russian,” Alexei said, waving a lazy hand in the air. “Russian stomach, can handle all the pies, all the medications.” He tilted his head back up, brown eyes all wide and doe-y and Justin couldn’t help himself.

“Fine,” he murmured, then leant in and let Alexei lead the kiss. It was slow, soft and pecking and sweet, and Justin couldn’t help himself from cupping Alexei’s cheek, from nosing against his warm skin and losing himself for a minute. “Pie, then more meds, and a nap.”

“You too,” Alexei ordered.

It was for the surgery alone, that Justin let the man boss him around.

*** 

Justin woke to a quiet whimper, and rolled over to see Alexei struggling with the pill bottle. His leg was up, and in the dim light of the room, Justin could see a thin sheen of sweat across Alexei’s brow.

“Babe,” he said in a sleep-thick voice. “Let me.”

Alexei didn’t argue about being strong and Russian and brave, which was a testament to how much pain he was in. Justin dished out the dose after checking the time—fifteen minutes late, which was why he was in agony. When Alexei gulped them down, Justin turned the light on low, then went about removing the boot—checking the sutures which looked angry and red, but not infected. He double-checked Alexei’s temperature to be safe, then fetched ice to soothe the ankle.

As he laid the flannel-wrapped pack over Alexei’s swollen ankle, Alexei gave a sigh and he made grabby hands until Justin shifted upward, sitting near his waist. He reached up, brushing his fingers through Alexei’s slightly sweat-damp curls.

“I’m sorry it hurts, babe.”

“Is okay,” Alexei murmured, leaning into the touch. “You here, so is always okay.”

Justin wanted to remind him he was allowed to hurt, and allowed to hate it, and allowed to not be grateful for anything when he was in that much pain but…Alexei’s voice was too genuine, too relieved to be fussed over. And Justin got it. Alexei hadn’t dated anyone for most of his time in the NHL. He’d been too nervous to out himself, even after Jack and Bitty went public.

But then they’d started talking—quietly at parties, in dark corners, sharing touches a little too lingering to be casual. Neither of them called attention to it, but six months into…well, whatever it was they were doing…Alexei cornered Justin on Jack’s balcony.

“I like you. Want to kiss you if…you…single? Okay with it? Maybe…like me little bit?”

Justin was too startled to say anything, but he was able to nod, and grab Alexei by the front of his shirt, and lean into the kiss. It was hot, and short, and promised a lot more.

A year and a half later and here they were. Not really open, but not really a secret.

And here in this bedroom, as Justin curled back up round Alexei who was relaxing as the ice and the meds took the edge off the pain, Justin was as open as he could ever be. With his heart on display, as needy as his fingers were, tracing along Alexei’s bicep, and pushing through thick chest hair. He toyed with the small, white-gold Star of David that hung on a chain—something Alexei took off for surgery and nothing else. The tip of his finger pushed at the points, and his lips found the edge of Alexei’s jaw which was just as sharp with unshaved stubble.

The feeling of it, the tactile reminder that he was here, and Alexei was here—and it wasn’t a great time, but it would get better—was comfort enough.

“I love you,” he murmured.

Alexei startled from his half-sleep, and turned his head. It wasn’t the first time either of them had said it, but they didn’t say it a lot. Maybe out of fear everything would blow up and they’d lose everything. Maybe out of fear it would become routine and stop meaning as much—though Justin was sure he would never hear it enough.

But he liked that, at least right now, it meant something strong and intense. Maybe a little new and unsure, but the rawness of it was important for such a new beginning. His heart beat a little faster at Alexei’s sleepy grin, the left side of his mouth curling up a little higher than the right.

He shifted as best he could, to draw the backs of his knuckles along the cut of Justin’s jaw, then nosed his cheek, nuzzling in the way he always did when he was sleepy and warm and content. “Myshka,” he murmured. Justin grinned, and kissed back. “You know I love you too, yes? So much. As much as stars in the sky.”

Justin laughed very softly, and let his arm fall to Alexei’s waist, holding tight. “Yeah, babe. Same.”

“Samsies,” Alexei said, his voice heavy and loopy and sweet. He giggled, then kissed Justin again. “M’sleep now. But in the morning, we do more. Kiss you all over.”

“Yeah sure,” Justin said, knowing nothing friskier than this would be going on for at least two weeks. But he’d let his boyfriend think that if he wanted to.

His boyfriend.

The thought, the thrill of it, shot up his spine and he tucked himself closer and closed his eyes. Alexei gave a contented hum, which drifted off with a soft, even breath. Then he went limp with sleep.

Justin wasn’t far behind.


End file.
